


The Blood Marked Alpha

by Alexdoesthings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles, Alternate Universe, Derek Feels, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Hurt Derek, M/M, Off - Screen character deaths, Pack Building, Stiles-centric, True Alpha Scott McCall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexdoesthings/pseuds/Alexdoesthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpt from the Argent Bestiary:<br/>"When a werewolf kills one of its own pack, it becomes marked. This blood mark is a spiral pattern on the skin that works out from the wrist. It grows with the blood of the werewolf's pack as it kills them. These blood marked get stronger and more mindlessly blood thirsty the larger their mark becomes. An alpha marked this way is especially dangerous.<br/>Kill any blood marked on sight regardless of territory boundaries."</p><p>Stiles gave up on having a pack the day he fled Beacon Hills with his mark and the alpha power from the mad wolf who turned him. Until Derek Hale, still covered in the ashes of his family, asks to be taken in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As of 11/8/2017 the ending has been updated.
> 
> You'll get most of this from reading, but I thought I should point it out now so no one is confused.  
> Some quick setting notes:  
> The werewolf and hunter territories are very distinct from one another.  
> There is no advanced communication technology so most of that goes through a network of communication brokers, which Stiles happens to be.  
> A werewolf with excellent control over their powers can completely conceal their power from other werewolves so they seem completely human. This is unusual for a werewolf to do though.  
> Werewolves who kill within their own pack become blood marked. Blue eyes still mean, or at least I take them to mean, guilt over having killed innocents. These rarely manifest together.

Stiles could tell right away that the stranger was not a turned werewolf, as he had been. The natural born have a different gait, moving like a true predator with confidence and stealth that comes perfectly natural in every step, not learned after they had been made to walk with human frailty. There’s an air about them that suggests they own the forest, the ease and comfort of being truly at home.

He was an omega which was rather unfortunate considering how powerful he would be if he were in a pack. Stiles's red hood was up over his head as he watched from his perch on a rock some twenty feet from the omega's path. This was not the first omega to have come to his territory searching for the power spike they felt when he relaxed too much and the depressant on his power lessened. Stiles still liked to meet the drifters sometimes, even knowing they would never leave him alone if they knew what he was.

Stiles dropped his hood and glanced up at where the new moon would hang invisibly in the sky later tonight at his favorite hour when he would release his power and run freely. His power was, as the moon, on its wane at that point, the perfect time to let loose and still remain mostly inconspicuous. He deliberated for a moment, not sure if he wanted to greet the stranger with such sweet release so close at hand.

Just as the dark haired omega was about to pass him, intent on wherever he was going with such purpose, Stiles decided. He let some of his power slip out, just enough to let the other werewolf know they were alike and he was more powerful, though not how much more. He was half expecting the stranger to move on, ignoring Stiles as they all do when he goes under. But the lone wolf stopped in his tracks and Stiles could feel him becoming more wary and shift in his stance to a more defensive one.

“So,” Stiles said, casually, trying not to startle him, “where are you heading in such a hurry?”

“I didn’t realize this was anyone’s territory,” the omega said carefully, avoiding the question. Omegas were generally treated very badly, especially when they crossed into other pack’s domain without permission.

“There’s no,” Stiles worded the next part carefully, “formal claim to it.”

Stiles turned his eyes from the skies to look at the stranger properly for the first time as he jumped easily down from his rock and began a leisurely approach. He was very good looking but there was a sense of loss surrounding him that weighed down his shoulders and dimmed his eyes, which otherwise would have been a bright kaleidoscope of light green but now were more of an empty storm grey.

“I do lots of business though,” Stiles said confidently, flashing him a grin, “I can get anything, information in particular. Interesting stuff I’m willing to share for-”

“I’m looking for the alpha,” he said doggedly, gently bumped into Stiles sentence and effectively cutting him off.

Stiles slowed a couple yards from him and reexamined the Omega. The look of determination in his eyes had grown deeper at the mention of the word alpha. His voice was confident but there was also a formal tentativeness to it. He was an omega after all; he didn’t have the luxury of making anyone angry with him. Stiles didn’t show it, but he was unnerved by this stranger’s abruptness and the look in his eye coupled with the set of his jaw and the rigidness of his spine.

“You know what I am,” Stiles stated. It should have been a question but he knew the omega knew what was going on so it was rather pointless to bother. Still, it had been awhile since he had been discovered and it set him on edge.

He shoved at his sleeves as he spoke, wanting full use of his hands in case he needed it. The stranger tensed further when he spotted the tail end of the mark that curled around Stiles's wrist as the sleeve of the sweatshirt was bunched. He did not look surprised though as he gave a single nod of his head, more of a jerk downward of his chin than anything. Stiles paid close attention to his features and scent, that of death and ashes. It was all familiar from stories he had heard along his travels recently and suddenly the pieces clicked into place.

Stiles simply stated, “You’re Derek Hale.”

Derek nodded again and there was a particular tightness to his features that told Stiles it had been awhile since he’d had his name spoken aloud in full by another person. The Hale part of his name seemed to drive a special dagger in his heart. That made sense. The Hales had been a strong and important pack; everyone knew the tragedy that had befallen them, the fire that burned all but one of them alive. It made sense then that Derek would be looking for an alpha and a new pack.

Stiles stopped only a foot from Derek, pressing his personal space. Derek, to his credit, did not back down despite the underlying threat. Now Stiles knew what to look for, Derek seemed utterly lost as though finding him was truly his last hope. And it was, Stiles realized with a pang in his heart that he did not allow to show on his face. Derek had lost absolutely everything he had ever loved in that fire; joining a pack was the one and only thing that could stop him from following them. Stiles, and the occasional human company he kept when trading, was the only thing that could be considered a pack for more than a hundred miles now that the Hales were gone and it was obvious Derek would not last fifty as this broken omega.

“I want to join your pack,” Derek said boldly, kneeling before Stiles in clear submission.

Stiles watched him expressionlessly for a second. It was tempting, horribly so, but there was no way he could grant this request and the longer Derek knelt like that the harder it would be to tell him no.

“I don’t want a pack,” he said coldly.

Derek’s spine went rigid at that. He had obviously been expecting to at least be tested before he was outright rejected, have a chance to try to prove himself. A small part of him had probably been half hoping that Stiles would just kill him outright. Stiles was not interested in either killing him or keeping him though, he just wanted him gone, now. He didn’t want to feel pity for Derek, he didn’t want to _want_ to help Derek, but he couldn’t stop the instinct from screaming at him.

He spun on his heel, not truly intending to leave but wanting to get away from the scent of need that rolled off Derek in powerful, crushing waves. It spoke to him on a primal level, that part of him that wanted a pack, a mate, a real territory, and the whole shebang. Derek did need someone, but Stiles really didn’t want to be that someone. He had decided long ago that wasn’t something he could have.

“Wait,” Derek called out desperately, catching the exposed skin at Stiles’s wrist in the attempt to keep him from leaving.

The skin to skin contact sent a strange shiver down Stiles’s arm and he wanted to howl. He pushed the urge down hard and refocused on the offending limb. Stiles turned back to look at Derek, flashing his fangs in warning. Derek returned to his submissive pose and it seemed to cost him a lot to let go. Had Stiles been any other alpha, he would have turned his claws on Derek for presuming to touch him or go against his decision. Stiles fought that instinct for the moment though, knowing where Derek’s desperation originated. He’d had a good family, a strong one, which had always taken good care of him and treated him like an equal. Now he had lost that security and he was at the mercy of whomever he crossed.

But Stiles wanted to be away from here, now. The need to have a pack was clawing at him in a way that opened so many old wounds in his heart he had thought long since healed over in the numbness of time. Derek was not done pleading his case though and Stiles really couldn’t come up with a reason not to let him.

“I’ll do anything. Please. I just,” Derek was saying but stopped his begging midsentence to get his bearings, voice shaking. He swallowed, looking away from Stiles and when he continued, his voice was quiet and heavy with the weight of the confession, “I have no one.”

Stiles could smell the salty bitterness of tears and grief close to the surface of Derek’s skin. Stiles could not have a pack but Derek needed one and every instinct he had, both human and wolf, was shouting at him to help Derek. The decision was, therefore, hardly his and definitely against his better judgment. He took a slow step toward Derek so he was standing over him and after a second bent down so they were on a level. He caught Derek’s eye and held him under his gaze, face solemn.

“Now you do,” he said it slowly and clearly so there could be no doubt in Derek’s mind what he meant, eyes blazing red.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles found that he enjoyed having a pack mate far more than he should. It was exhilarating to run with someone, their power feeding off of each other, building in a collective. He could understand how an alpha could be driven mad doing this, collecting wolves like tokens. They hunted together, worked together, and slept curled around each other in abandoned spaces and shallow caves Stiles haunted when traveling. Stiles had forgotten what that was like, the feeling of the comforting presence of another’s warmth, having someone there to help keep watch so he could actually get some sleep, someone to take down big game with, someone to protect.

Derek seemed relieved too. He was still caught up in the tragedy that had taken his family so he didn’t say much, but being around Stiles took the edge off him. As he’d told Scott once, before all this had gone down, Stiles knew that, as much as being broken up hurt, being alone was way worse. So he tried not to let Derek stew in it, finding things for them to do that required an amount of physical activity that didn’t allow room for thought and filling the silence with interesting, if occasionally one sided, conversation.

There were many changes that Derek brought to his life that Stiles was not aware of until it had already become part of his routine; the largest of which was, arguably, the den. Stiles had acquired a cabin deep in the woods some years past. It was a small one room with a bed, kitchenette, and empty fireplace. He used the space for storage more of the time than not and had come back once or twice a month at most as it made him feel safe and comfortable to  fall into a real bed that smelled only of him after long days of travel and uncomfortable sleeping conditions and these were feeling he had long since come to run from. With Derek as his pack though, they gravitated toward it. After realizing they'd settled into a pattern in the small but cozy space, Stiles took to jokingly calling it their den. Derek rolled his eyes at this but ultimately did not object much to the term and it stuck.

It wasn’t all easy sailing though. They worked well together but there was a tension between them, an indefinable friction that didn’t let trust wiggle in without being scrutinized and heavily questioned, despite the pack bond now between them. Stiles couldn’t quite figure out what it was, which was maddening. It chaffed on his nerves and made him volatile. It started to bother him so much that, only a few months into their tentative pack bonding, Stiles started messing with Derek as much as humanly possible, trying to press all his buttons.

He caught Derek in a trap once and refused to release him until he’d guessed the random object Stiles was thinking about.

“I’ll give you something to think about if you don’t let me down,” Derek had shouted at him, angrily trying to claw his way out.

“Challenging your alpha now, Derek,” Stiles asked evilly, face split in a wide mischievous grin.

“Only because he’s being an ass,” Derek retorted.

Stiles laughed while Derek glared holes in him with his ice blue wolf’s eyes.

A month and a half later, Stiles took them on a week long, entirely metaphorical, wild goose chase, not telling Derek what they were hunting until he figured out that they weren’t after anything at all.

Derek looked livid but Stiles knew it was more about the wound to his pride than anything and he found it genuinely hilarious.

 “I just can’t believe it took you so long,” Stiles laughed, too taken with mirth to push Derek off him from where he’d tackled and pinned Stiles to the ground, fists balled in his favorite red sweatshirt.

“Is everything a joke to you,” Derek asked, anger and disgust warring in his voice, shaking Stiles by his jacket front.

“Don’t be such a sourwolf, Derek” Stiles teased, “admit it, you’re just embaaaaaarrassed.”

Derek shook his head in distaste but there was a twitch to the side of his lip and a double exhale of breath. That made Stiles stop for a second and the grin on his face get wider, if that was even possible.

“That was totally a laugh,” Stiles said triumphantly.

“Don’t think I find your moronic antics funny, Stiles,” Derek warned with a threatening note in his voice that Stiles didn’t buy for a second, Derek had not, after all, disagreed.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s wrists in a flash and had reversed their positions before Derek had time to react. Derek might have been broader than Stiles but his mark and alpha strength more than made up the difference between them. He forced Derek’s wrists down to either side of his head as he pinned his beta. He leaned close to Derek’s indignant face with a mocking smirk and said, “Comedy is the spice of life, Derek.”

It wasn’t unusual that they were this close to each other, almost nose to nose, it was actually perfectly normal. The thing that wasn’t was the feeling that was surrounding them, like the tension was building to a breaking point. Derek’s eyes flicked downward on Stiles face for a single second before returning to his eyes and Stiles found his own mimicking the movement, drawn down to Derek’s lips for a second. Stiles froze and the laugh died entirely from his face. Derek’s eyebrows drew together in confusion as he watched Stiles start to tremble and his face become something bordering on terror.

“Stiles, w-” Derek called out but Stiles was already off, running as fast as he could through the trees, running from the problem, just like always.

He ran the loop around his territory in full alpha form, faster than he’d thought possible, before it occurred to him that he had placed more than a loose claimed on this land, that he’d called it _his_. The tremors rocked his body even harder at that thought and he fell to his hands and knees, human again. He was getting too complacent here. That wasn’t the most pressing problem he had right now though, he could solve that by moving on. The problem was the reason he was doing it in the first place, Derek. Stiles dropped his head into his arms, curled on the dirt, and breathed the earthy scents of the forest, trying to drown that need that had been creeping up on him all this time. He wanted Derek as his mate.

One of Stiles hands flashed toward his chest, clutching at it as he started to cough and wheeze, unable to pull in air. His claws lengthened and dug deeply into his chest until he couldn't stand it anymore. Everything hurt but his claws triggered the healing process and reminded him what real pain was until he found that he could breathe again. He coughed once more and moaned as the attack passed and the trembling subsided somewhat.

Stiles blinked tiredly and his eyes caught on the dark, severe swirling pattern decorating his wrist just inches from his nose. That mark cursed him and having a two man pack was already pushing it, but to have a mate? Stiles couldn’t risk it, couldn’t put Derek in that kind of danger. That’s why he’d run from Scott’s pack in the first place. He’d promised, on his Dad’s gravestone, he wouldn’t give in to that mark.

It took him several more hours to calm down, shifting between wolf and human as he worked off the tension trying to choke his body. He was wandering aimlessly when he heard Derek howl in the distance, waiting for him at the den. Stiles listened to the familiar sound fade away for a moment. Stiles took a second to enjoy the irony because that’s how he’d deal with his problem; he’d ignore it and eventually it would fade away on its own. That was how he dealt before, that’s how he would deal now.

He didn’t answer Derek’s howl but he did make his way back. Derek met him at the door with crossed arms and a worried scowl that demanded an answer. Stiles took first watch outside, away from Derek. He didn’t talk to him, didn’t answer Derek’s questions, just let him get fed up and go lay down. That was the first night either of them were plagued with nightmares since they’d become pack.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles wasn’t sure how long it was later, a week or a month, but they started to shakily settle back into some semblance of normal again. Stiles would occasionally let Derek near him before remembering he was supposed to be on guard. Fighting with himself and his own instincts was a battle he did not like, but one he was determined to win. It left a bad taste in his mouth and Derek gave him such closed off, broken looks sometimes that he almost wanted nothing more in the world than to simply relent.

He threw himself into his trade, finding information and tidbits, finding buyers and sellers with interesting stuff worth his info. He liked his work, it kept him informed and it caused a little trouble too, sometimes. As the full moon approached, Stiles found more and more excuses to go off and trade instead of being around Derek. The heightening of the moon meant the heightening of his instincts and desires, making it harder to resist.

As though the moon sensed his distress though, it threw him a new curve ball, adding to the already amazingly complicated rubix cube of a problem he’d made for himself.

Derek brought him strays. Two miserable, terrified omegas that had been pushed by hunters into this area on the full moon and Derek was looking at him with this determined face that said there wouldn’t be room for argument here.

With the moon only a day or two from full, Stiles's  powers were at their peak and his control was at its weakest, his emotions taking him for a joyride whenever he dropped his guard. It was harder to keep from doing things he'd regret, specially when it came to his convictions and he’d been keeping Derek at a particularly safe distance the last few days.

Stiles glared at the moon and it seemed to say, as though his pain gave it a special kind of satisfaction, “If you don’t want a mate, then I’ll give you a pack.”

Stiles returned his gaze to the pair and appraised them expressionlessly. They were both a mess and still had healing wounds from arrows that had been pulled clumsily from their flesh as they ran. One was a short blonde girl and the other a taller dark skinned boy, both with the same look of desperation in their eyes that Derek had once had. A similar desire to help them stirred in his chest and he hated everything in the world at that moment.

He turning narrowed eyes onto his beta. “Derek,” he said coldly, “I told you before, I don’t want a pack.”

Derek was frowning, eyes conflicted and he glanced at the two pitiful omegas before looking back at Stiles and saying quietly, “They need help, Stiles. They still can’t control the shift during the full moon.”

The situation was making Stiles angry and volatile. He knew this was not the time to be dealing with any of them and he needed to get away. But his emotions won out. Stiles stepped up to Derek, challenging his disobedience, allowing his authority to wash over his beta. Derek looked away and turned his head submissively. He knew he had taken this a step too far, testing his alpha’s rule. Anger and satisfaction wared for dominance in Stiles before anger won out again. He took one more, slow step toward Derek so they were flush and placed his lips next to Derek’s ear. His hand came up to wrap around the other side of Derek’s neck, claws gently grazing his skin in a warning to stay still.

“I made one exception, Derek,” Stiles said, slowly and clearly in his lowest, most dangerous voice, “Don’t make me regret it.”

He pulled back deliberately, giving Derek a hard glare and letting his claws scrape slowly along Derek’s neck as he did it. Derek shivered involuntarily as his alpha’s claws parted company with his skin, leaving shallow, bloody trails that would heel in a moment but made their point. Stiles knew he was pushing this too far, his mark burning softly under his shirt sleeve and feeding his anger with a touch of bloodlust.

He turned to leave, but Derek stopped him. “What do you want me to do with them,” Derek asked and, were Stiles not so familiar with him, he wouldn't have noticed the slight tremble in Derek's voice.

Stiles glanced unconcernedly back at the omegas before his eyes flicked onto Derek’s again. Derek, just on the edge of perception, was showing clear signs that he was scared Stiles would ask him to kill the two. It was not something he hadn’t done before with the Hale pack, Stiles was sure, but he had sympathy for their situation now, having lived it. Stiles almost wanted to give the order, the scent of blood on the air making his mark flare in demand of more, but he couldn’t do that to Derek, he just couldn’t.

“They can stay,” Stiles said, slowly, as he disappeared among the shadows of the trees, “but they aren’t part of my pack.”


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles left for the remainder of the full moon. He didn't give an excuse this time, though he knew Derek would be angry about that later. Stiles couldn't bring himself to care though with all the trouble Derek had been causing him of late, even if much of that was his own making.

He roamed aimlessly through the wilder and mostly unclaimed lands beyond his territory, no destination in mind, until he stumbled across another pack's territory as the moon waned, not realizing how fast his restless thoughts had been moving him. He kept his face hidden and his power under the radar as he explored. The territory they'd carved out for themselves almost touched the coast and had breath taking views of the waves from the higher hills. It was a bright place that felt like an eternal summer and was a stark contrast to his darker territory with its thicker trees and heavy air.

He spotted a small patrol of them before they noticed him and took cover to watch. One of them was boasting, though Stiles had missed what about, and sticking his chest out comically while the others tried to disguise their laughter. Then he unwittingly found one of his companion's feet that had strayed out in front of him and tumbled into a bush. They roared with laughter as he popped back out, red faced and fighting a grin as he admonished them. He pounced after the offender who used her other two pack mates as human shields, taunting him.

 It was an interesting reminder for him what a healthy pack was supposed to look like as the four wolves joked around. Their carefree fun reminded him of the days before he'd been bitten when he and Scott were just low on the food chain high school students whose main concern had been getting a girlfriend and playing lacrosse. This pack never had to worry about their alpha losing to the mark one day and killing them all.

His thoughts swirled melancholy in his head and made him both angry and miserable at the same time. Agitated, he walked off and didn't pay any attention to his surroundings, just wanting to be away from the sound of laughter. As was his luck, he came across the second in command out wandering by herself. She was all muscle and large enough to go up against a semi at seventy miles an hour. Stiles had relaxed the dampeners on his power before she'd spotted him and he tried to rectify his mistake too late. There was a wary look in her eye as she noticed the change in his power level.

Stiles didn't have a clear idea of what happened next. He knew she prowled up to him and confronted him to ask what he was doing in their territory without permission from the alpha, but then he smelled her mate on her skin. His emotions went into a tailspin as Derek's face jumped to the forefront of his mind. Then everything was a blur of claws and motion as they locked into a fast and bloody scuffle. She didn't howled for her pack mates right away, that he remembered distinctly, like she still thought she could take him. Then her claws caught on his sleeve in passing.

The whole sleeve ripped clean off and revealed the softly pulsing mark to the oncoming night. Stiles reflexively grabbed onto his wrist like he could hide it, but the harsh black swirls pulsed red under his fingers and spread too far up his arm for him to cover completely even if he had three hands. It was only a soft burning on his skin, as the werewolf before him shared no pack alliance with him, but violence always woke the power to some degree. Her glowing yellow eyes flashed from the mark to his red eyes in the horrified realization of what she was fighting. A lone alpha against a beta with a strong pack behind them meant the odds were largely in her favor, but a blood marked alpha was an entirely different story.

She howled then and the sound of it shook him finally from whatever state he'd been in. He ran for all he was worth, following the coastline through the trees. Her pack mates were organized though and soon were following close behind, breaking into groups and coming at him from different angles. They worked as a unit, hardly needing commands to tell them where to go or what to do. He was faster than most of them and lost a group quickly when they caught up to him, but they were replaced almost as quickly by another.

They kept their distance when they found him, just close enough to keep him running but far enough that he didn't need to turn and fight them off. He found this strange until he realized that the groups circling him were leading him close to hunter lands. Though he could smell the faint hint of battles fought between the two sides the closer he got to the border, he knew they were allies while he, the greater enemy, was present.

Cursing and with no other choice, he charged headlong into hunter territory. The pack couldn't follow him as easily with all the anti-werewolf weapons the hunters employed, but he couldn't move as well either and spent sleepless days dodging traps, explosives, and more arrows and firepower than he cared to think about. The closest he came to dying though wasn't by something either side had actively done.

His exhaustion made it hard to see the sharp slope and he tripped, sliding down the embankment. He dug his claws into the soft earth to stop his momentum and the momentary respite as he clung there was enough for his muscles to let him know that they were trembling and screaming for a rest. He was almost immediately forced up again though as he heard his pursuit approaching, shouted orders carrying on the wind. Deciding to save his energy, he let himself slide the last few yards to the bottom, passing tree roots and grasses as he went. When he got there though, an acrid taste filled his mouth and his vision went fuzzy. He recognized the smell and almost cried out in panic as his leg sunk into a furrow beside a neat row of familiar purple wolf's bane flowers. There were so many and the shallow valley they sat in made the air slow to move and all the more choking. He fell to his knees and could feel the shift coming and going in sickening waves as the plant messed with his system. He would die here within minutes if he didn't get out, but if he went back the way he'd come he would be caught and dead anyway.

Thinking only of his tiny two man pack and how shattered Derek would be if he lost his alpha again, Stiles took the gamble and pulled himself up to his shaking feet. He forced himself to stumble deeper into the field. Keeping control over his motor function was a near impossible feat and he fell among the roots twice. The field wasn't more than fifteen feet from one side to the other, but it felt much farther. Stiles tried to hold his breath but he couldn't get a clean one in and ended up coughing and wheezing instead. His vision was blacking severely when his hands found the steep embankment on the other side of the field. He scrabbled up it by sheer willpower, pulling up roots and grasses as he went. Finally, he collapsed at the top, breathing deep lungfuls of fresh air.

He retched a watery black fluid and lay there for several long minutes before his head cleared enough for him to make sense of his surroundings again. He listened for the sound of the hunters but they had gone past the field he'd fallen into and were off chasing him elsewhere. The werewolves seemed to have been warned away from this place as he couldn't catch any hint of them.

Taking his blessing in disguise, Stiles climbed to his feet again and, though exhausted and sick from the poison, continued running. He started to recognize the wolf's bane pits after that and skirted close to them to mask his scent from the other werewolves. Without their assistance, the hunters had a harder time keeping up with him and finally he lost them.

He didn't stop moving until he was within a day's walk of his own border. He found the shed of an older couple who, he knew from previous stays, were nearly deaf and never ventured out to the little building behind their one story. His clothes, especially his sweatshirt, were in ruins. They had holes punched in them, a couple of burns on top of the already ripped sleeve he'd gotten in the fight that started this mess, and more than a few bloodstains of dubious origin. He reached for the box of provisions he'd stashed here for just such occasions and saw the piles of spare clothes, water bottles, and canned goods.

He was too tired at that moment to do anything with them though. Instead, he collapsed into a chair that sent up a puff of dust when he fell into it and fell asleep almost immediately to the sweet thought of returning to the den and Derek when the day broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check me out on Tumblr [here](http://alexdoesthings.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overuse of the horizontal line break is a go!

"Those two need to go," Stiles said, talking aloud to himself.

He was gathering his few possessions and some provisions in a line on the bed, ready to leave this mess for a juicy bit of talk he'd heard whispered about far from here. Derek was in the den also, striding a few steps one way and then another behind him. Derek had left the two omegas outside and followed Stiles in so they could talk, though so far Stiles had packed and Derek had given him hard looks.

Stiles had came back to Boyd and Erica hanging off Derek like growths. It bothered Stiles more than it should have. Certainly having werewolves who weren't pack in his territory set him on edge, but it was worse seeing Derek with them. When he trained them, his words were harsh but his blows were soft and there was a touch of a smile to his eyes. What had finally driven Stiles to pack was seeing Erica talk and joke with Derek and how easily he responded after only a week and a half. Derek still rarely did that with Stiles after all this time.

“They’re going to die out there on their own,” Derek said objected angrily to his mutterings, stopping his pacing to glare at Stiles's back.

Derek’s worry was seeping into Stiles's skin against his will and making him want to do something to alleviate his beta’s fears and worries. He shook away the desire to pull Derek into his arms and simply smother them out of him.

Derek did have a point. Stiles turned from his packing to face him. He'd settled against the counter, arms crossed. When his eyes met Stiles's they fell respectfully to his shoes. He still glared at them though like they'd done him some personal wrong.

“Well I’m not just throwing them out for the hunters, Derek,” Stiles said, exasperated with his beta’s distress, "I'll make sure they're taken care of."

Derek’s head shot up in surprise. Stiles met his gaze with a neutral expression, not giving anything away. He'd have to take a vacation from work for this and miss his fine opportunity to trade something fun, the joys of being self-employed.

“How,” Derek breathed, disbelievingly, as though he couldn’t comprehend the idea. Stiles was almost offended by that, as though his beta thought he had no heart at all, as though all that made up his personality was sarcasm and severity.

The solution had been swimming around the back of his head for a while now. Stiles had been ignoring it though, because it’s what he should have done with Derek the second he came to him. Stiles turned back to the bed, not able to meet his eyes anymore, and forced his fists to unclench. “I know an alpha who will take them in,” Stiles answered cryptically, “He’ll be good to them.”

* * *

It was a long journey and it had been many years since the last time he'd been this way, but Stiles still knew it well. It’s new residents, however, had him on edge.

The hunters had extended their territory, like a slowly creeping fungus. Stiles kept thinking that he should have just let Erica and Boyd go on their own, sent his regards, and hoped they made it safely, but Derek had this protectiveness about the pair that swayed him, whether he liked it or not. Still, on his own to trade was one thing, but with the weakened omegas tagging along it was dangerous to the point of suicide to take this many werewolves through this much hunter land. They really had no choice though.

They ducked through the trees on silent feet, moving as fast as they dared. Stiles stopped them to take stock every few miles, unnerved that land so saturated with hunter scent was so unoccupied. His fears were confirmed though when he strained his ears and caught a careless whisper behind them. Their escape back was completely cut off.

"Move," Stiles ordered them urgently, pointing deeper into hunter territory.

No sooner had they started moving than a crossbow bolt went whizzing by Stiles's ear from on high. He glared up into the trees and spotted a sentry buried among the high branches, scent masked and shredded by the wind. He searched for more of them and nearly tackled Boyd when another shot was fired, aimed at his head. They all changed direction to avoid more of the sentries and suddenly they weren't being fired at anymore. Stiles had a bad feeling about this.

Then the ground in front of Erica, who was leading, exploded. She was pushed back from the force of it and almost knocked Derek to the ground with her. Stiles's senses cast out among the trees, looking for a way through, realizing the trap they'd wandered into. There was a soft humming starting some distance away that Stiles recognized. They were setting up a perimeter to catch them. Derek confirmed his suspicions with a grim look, Erica clutching at his sleeve. Her eyes were wide but she seemed mostly unhurt.

"There's only one way through," Derek said, jerking his head toward the humming, "but we have to be fast."

"We'll never make it," Boyd put in, his voice full of desperation and they all knew he didn't mean Stiles and Derek.

Derek turned back to Stiles and met his eyes with a determined look. Stiles knew what he wanted him to do to get them out of this, but the blood was pounding in his ears and the mark was burning along his arm. His grit his teeth, deliberating, even knowing they’d painted themselves into a corner with only one way out. Another explosion took out the ground a few yards to their left and everyone flinched back. Top soil fell like a rain around them and he could feel their very small window of opportunity closing.

Then Derek cried out, pushed back as something ripped into his shoulder and blew out the other side. He clutched at it, blood running between his fingers and his eyes blazed blue as he glared into the trees. That decided everything for Stiles; there was no way he was going to let Derek die for these two.

"Fine," Stiles yelled furiously, turning on Erica and Boyd with glowing red eyes, "Welcome to the freaking party.”

It was quick and dirty but it was a pack bond. He felt his limbs filling with new strength as their eyes lit with it. He howled a war cry as they charged toward the humming that had turned into a violent thing, dodging bullets and a hail of arrows. Their only saving graces were that the hunters had not expected them to run straight at the horrific noise and it hadn’t been at full blast when they’d run through. Still, it crippled them as they stumbled past it and out of range, but they still managed to outrun their attackers with only ringing ears and the one casualty.

When they finally stopped hours later to catch their breath and let Stiles examine Derek to make sure that he was indeed healed, Stiles made it very clear this was temporary. He snarled at Boyd and Erica, using both sides of himself to express his feelings and Erica was almost in tears when he’d finally used all that remained of his will power to turn away and take up a post at the edge of their range to keep watch. It had been cruel but he was fighting himself again and that made him tense so he couldn’t bring himself to really care.

He sighed, agitated, and put his head in his hands, trying to calm down. The added power of the other two werewolves was making him want more, so much more, even though the bond was a shaky one. Speaking of shaky, that’s exactly how Stiles was feeling. His tremors only outclassed by those the day he’d run from Derek.

* * *

 

“I haven’t felt this good in ages,” Boyd said with a content breath several hours later, “I kind of wish we could stay like this.”

Stiles was only half paying attention to what was happening back at their makeshift camp, senses thrown wide to catch any approaching threat. It was mostly gentle babble in the background, barely registering.

There was a long silence of several moments before Erica said, hopeful and tentative, “Maybe we could.”

“He’s taking us to another alpha,” Boyd pointed out, “He doesn’t want a pack, remember?”

“Yeah, but you can feel it, he likes this power too,” she said, certain, “It wouldn’t take much to convince him to let us stay.”

“What are you suggesting,” Boyd asked, interested but skeptical.

“Well… we could stay in his pack if we have a real in with his favorite member,” Stiles heard Erica’s calculating voice crystal clear even from some distance and it set him on edge, as though it were something slimy and scaly that had crawled across his back.

He made his way warily back toward them, instinct leading him. He was on edge, the feeling of something bad happening creeping up on him and screaming in his ear like a howling wind around the edge of the den. The night was crystal clear and he heard every movement as Erica got up and started walking over the leaf litter.

Boyd tried to say something but it didn’t seem to make any difference to her as she ignored him and said, in a dark temptress’s voice, “Hey, Derek.”

Stiles was moving fast now, racing over the leaf strewn ground, desperate to get there. He didn’t want to think about why. He wished he’d started running sooner. He burst into their secluded little clearing just as Erica’s mouth connected with Derek’s in a hot passionate kiss. It might not have been so bad had Derek not returned it with an equal participation. None of them noticed him, his dampeners set in full lock down from his shock.

Derek abruptly ended the heated exchange by throwing Erica bodily from himself. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a complicated, dark expression on his face. Stiles caught the scent on the wind of the two of them, mixed and heated. His control and everything he’d worked to maintain shattered with that scent. He growled, low and territorial, as everything became bathed in red.

He charged at Erica, wanting her blood with every fiber of his being. The fear that spiked the air of the clearing from every werewolf present filled Stiles with a dangerous satisfaction, a sick yearning for more. He would have slammed straight into Erica and torn her apart before she’d even had a chance to get her hands under herself to scramble away, had he not been hit from the side.

“Stiles,” Derek was screaming in his ear, “you don’t want to do this. Stop!”

Derek had him in a tight headlock, only managing to hold him because Stiles had been expecting it to be Boyd. Derek still smelled like Erica though and it was incensing Stiles further. He wanted to slash at Derek to get him to let go and he raised one clawed hand to do just that but he froze.

The idea of hurting Derek woke his human side and he caught enough of his sense to realize what was happening. He deflated, feeling empty, ashamed, and betrayed. He let his features return to human and slumped against Derek miserably, a small whine escaping his throat. Derek’s fingers rubbed a soothing rhythm into Stiles neck and the back of his head as he settled them slowly on the ground. They had not been this close since Stiles had first realized what was happening between them.

He felt Derek jerk his head from where he was curled into the beta’s throat. The resulting sound of Boyd dragging Erica away to a safer distance followed the gesture. She was asking questions in a frantic way, demanding to know what had just happened. Stiles didn’t care.

He resolved to do as he should have done when Derek had first come to him; he would leave Derek with Erica and Boyd when they’d transferred into their new pack. Derek could have the mate he deserved and the pack he needed. It hurt him to think about and he curled closer to Derek, needing his warmth and the comfort of pack, even though his heart was breaking for the same reason.


	6. Chapter 6

The only vivid color in the dream was red. The only thing he felt was the satisfaction of the kill. He knew this scene well, had lived it. Stiles claws tore through the flesh as easily as paper as he savaged the body beneath him until it stopped moving. He felt the rush of power filling his being and making him strong like he hadn’t imagined. Then there were three more and at his back. He turned on them without thought, his blood still singing for carnage. The ground around him was a macabre Jackson Pollack as they fell, dead, to the earth.

Then his blood lust faded and he looked down at the bodies. Boyd’s dark skin hid the blood well, but Erica’s blonde hair soaked it in and set it on display. Then there was Derek with the sharp wolf’s blue fading from his eyes and leaving them that dull grey they had been the first day Stiles had met him as he tried to choke words through his ravaged throat. Then he went limp too and their dead eyes were all staring at him, betrayed. He turned slowly to face the other body.

It was standing. Half of the face was clawed off, the throat was torn to bits, and most of its left arm was unrecognizable. Its mostly unscathed right arm grabbed his throat and lifted him high above the ground. He kicked at it, but he couldn’t reach and he was running out of air. Then Stiles recognized the other half of the face as his own, glowing red eyes glared back at him out of the torn flesh. The unmangled half of his mouth pulled up on one side in a horrifying smile as the mark crawled across his cheek, devouring what was left of his skin.

Stiles woke to his name being called and his shoulder being shaken. His claws were out and his vision had that sharpness of the change. But the hand he caught as he rolled toward the offender was Derek’s. He stared at his beta in horror as he saw blood splattered across Derek’s face and deep gouges in his throat as he looked down at Stiles from where he knelt beside him.

The vision of Derek gushing blood from a ragged throat faded under the reality. There was still blood on his face but it belonged to Stiles. Blood slid down his wrist from where his claws had dug into his palms while he slept and it made his grip on Derek's wrist slick. Stiles glanced around them as his vision returned to normal, the darkness of night becoming more complete to his human eyes. There were no slain bodies around him, no one else's blood on his hands, only the pack he would soon abandon and the silent trees around them. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief and closed his eyes to listen to Derek’s steady, quick heartbeat.

“Stiles,” Derek asked again urgent, “Answer me! What happened?”

Derek’s hand, the one not still restrained by the wrist, grabbed Stiles’s shoulder and shook him again. Stiles’s brow furrowed at the disturbance and he was too tired and disquieted to deal with Derek right now.

“It was nothing,” Stiles said tiredly, “Go back to sleep.”

“Stiles, you were-,” Derek started to protest, but Stiles was more than done. He let his full power and authority flow unhindered over Derek. The change lit his eyes red once more as he opened them to stare down his beta, who instantly went quiet.

“I said, go back to sleep,” he said with that inhuman, alpha’s authority.

Derek tried to fight it for a moment, his eyes flickering blue. His muscles were going limp against his will though and he was forced to lay down or fall down. His mouth formed around the shape of Stiles’s name as he blinked at him, frowning. Then his face went slack, his eyes closed one final time, and he released his breath in a quiet sigh.

Stiles stayed as he was, watching Derek drift off under his command for several long moments. Forcing this on him sent a pang of guilt through Stiles. It was excessive, but it was better than the alternative. He brushed a hand over Derek’s hair lightly to appease himself, forgetting his bleeding palms for a moment. Derek nuzzled softly into the touch and Stiles withdrew his hand like he’d been burnt as more blood colored his skin. That was Stiles though, staining everything he touched with his marked hand. He shed his shirt and used it to clean the blood from their skin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to Derek’s sleeping form as he gently wiped Derek's forehead, “but it will all be over tomorrow.”

He settled back to look at his mark, tracing one of the spirals idly. It was a slowly ticking time bomb on his sanity. All the stories involving a marked alpha were those of carnage and tragedy, the alpha building a blood thirsty pack and then killing every one of them to expand the mark and eventually poisoning itself.

The burning as the mark carved his skin for the first time and the rush of power replayed in his mind as it did in his dreams. He shivered as he felt it respond for a second, like a match strike on his skin. He’d fought the mark so many times since then.

Stiles fisted his hand over it, knuckles going white. He wanted to rip his skin from his arm, tear away any remains of the dark swirling pattern, but he knew from experience it would still be there when the skin healed. He looked back at Derek, heart in his throat.

“Tomorrow,” he muttered, standing and taking watch so he could meet that treacherous sunrise for himself.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been months of long trekking but they'd finally reached the outskirts of Beacon Hills with the nearly full moon rising at their backs. Stiles became more tense the closer they got to the border, fragile of heart from the losses he'd sustained here. He'd lost his pack, his future, his father, and possibly his best friend. Stiles itched his marked forearm absently through the fabric of his sweatshirt as he lapsed into memory of the last time he'd really looked at Scott.

 _Time didn't_ _have meaning as Stiles stared down at the mark fresh on his arm, a mix of his blood and theirs flowing down his wrist. He could have stood there for days or seconds before he heard someone else approaching. He looked around, eyes finding Scott_   _’s just as his friend skidded to a stop a few yards in front of him and looked up from the deep black swirls etching his skin. Scott was staring at him, stunned and wary, red eyes meeting red._

Scott hadn't rejected him exactly, he always believed in the best in people, but Stiles hadn't stuck around long after they buried his father to find out how far that went. He hadn't been back since, but they'd sent word to each other to check in now and then. He knew Scott would take in his strays, but he didn't know how Scott would treat him and that wormed uncomfortably under his skin.

Derek noticed something was off but didn’t comment, knowing the silence that had settled around Stiles since that morning meant he wouldn’t answer anyway.

When they reached the edge of Scott’s territory, Stiles howled to him and they hung there uneasily in its wake. They didn't have to wait long though before Scott and an entourage of his betas came to greet them. Stiles’s loose little pack moved instinctively closer to him as the larger pack approached. It was tense for a long moment as Scott's betas lined up behind him and eyed the new comers in silence.

The tension was broken when Scott’s face split into a wide infectious grin that Stiles returned as the friends locked eyes for the first time in years. A sense of right broke over Stiles and it was as though nothing had changed between them.

They broke from their slightly stunned betas and ran at each other for a full on bro hug. They shared a long laugh and bantered back and forth in a familiar rhythm until they remembered that they weren’t alone.

His arm around Scott's shoulders, Stiles swept his free hand dramatically between Scott and the rag tag group of strays and introduced, “Guys, this is my best friend in the world, Scott McCall. Scott, this is Erica, Boyd, and Derek.”

“Dude, you got yourself a pack,” Scott said, jubilantly, observing the betas over Stiles’s shoulder.

“Actually,” Stiles corrected, face becoming somewhat closed off, “that’s what we’re here about. I have some strays in need of a good home.”

* * *

Scott took them into his territory and introduced them to his assembled pack. They had grown in number since Stiles had fled but they were all, for the most part, as welcoming as their alpha. Though, Derek didn’t seem to like Scott's pack as much as Stiles had hoped. The whole time he was at Stiles’s elbow, distrust radiating off of him in waves. It was mildly disconcerting to feel from Derek while Stiles was caught up in Scott’s excitement, but he knew that Scott could grow on anyone given enough time. 

Where Stiles had killed the insane alpha that had turned them, Scott had become an alpha in his own right. He hadn’t wanted to be, he just wanted everyone to get out alive, but he was a good leader. The rest of the betas accepted him and trusted him with their lives; they swore they would follow him into any battle and it simply happened, just as it was meant to. Stiles respected him for that. His friend deserved such a loyal pack surrounding him, believing in him enough to grant him the powers of an alpha. Though he always felt a little spark of jealousy, cursed as he was, Stiles was genuinely happy for Scott.

Erica and Boyd stuck close to Derek and made themselves as small and unnoticeable as possible, intimidated by Scott’s pack. Until they saw a familiar face.

Scott drug Stiles over to a blonde werewolf, casually cleaning his nails while leaning against a tree. Erica and Boyd were still eyeing a particularly enthusiastic member of Scott’s pack and Derek was a dark protective shadow over Stiles’s shoulder.

“This,” Scott introduced proudly, “is my second in command, Isa-” but Scott was cut off by Erica’s scream of, “Isaac!”

They all turned to look at her. Her face was the picture of jubilant disbelief as she looked at the beta. Boyd’s face broke into a huge grin as he spotted Isaac too and the pair ran at him together. Isaac looked taken aback and equally as surprised. He recovered and had pushed off from the tree by the time Erica had thrown herself violently into his arms to crush him in a hug as she sobbed, “We thought you were dead!”

“Man it’s good to see you,” Boyd said as he hugged Isaac too, catching what little of him Erica was not wrapped around.

Isaac hugged Erica with one arm and used the other to wrap around Boyd’s tall figure in a messy, tight group hug. His shoulders were shaking and he seemed beyond words.

As it turned out, the pack the three betas had been in was slaughtered by a strange pack and they had been separated as they ran for their lives. Isaac and Boyd were leaning against each other, sides totally flush, with Erica lying across their laps, smiling up at them. It was a truly heartwarming scene as they shared their stories with each other. A fond smile crept across Stiles’s face as he watched the happily reunited pack mates and he knew he’d done the right thing.

After having listened to their story, Scott and Stiles found a spot away from the others to catch up properly. Derek had gone off somewhere to satisfy his paranoia, or so Stiles had assumed when he’d said something about going to check things out. Stiles wasn’t worried about him though, in such high spirits as he was. Seeing Scott again was wonderful after so long.

They were perched on a rock side by side and Stiles finally had the chance to properly take in the input of his senses. His heart clenched as he caught the distinctive scent, but there was something about knowing Scott's scent so well that didn't send him into a fury like the last time he'd smelled that. He breathed deep again giving Scott an exaggerated searching look as he did it.

“You got yourself a mate,” Stiles said proudly, clapping Scott on the back in congratulations, “That's great, dude.”

Scott smiled at him thankfully, as though he’d been worried that Stiles wouldn’t approve for a second. Stiles shook his head at his friend’s foolishness.

“How’s that going,” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Scott laughed and shook his head at the ridiculous look on Stiles's face. Stiles took this as a win.

“Honestly," Scott said, returning to some semblance of seriousness, a far away grin taking his features, "a mate was the last thing on my mind after everything that happened, but this might be the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

“Besides meeting me, you mean,” Stiles correctly teasingly, shoving playfully at Scott's shoulder.

Scott shoved him back and they laughed as they initiated a playful shoving war. Stiles was totally at ease as he had not been in a long time. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Scott until he had him back.

Derek crossed back into Stiles’s vision and his head turned automatically toward him. Scott’s laughing face turned thoughtful as he observed Stiles's mood change, noticed his scent as he looked at Derek.

“You really care about him, don’t you,” Scott asked, knowingly, a glad smile lighting his face when Stiles looked back at him in surprise.

He didn’t need to acknowledge his friend’s words, Scott knew him well enough. Stiles deliberately glanced away from Scott and his eyes caught on Derek again. For a second he let himself admit to Scott's words, felt how deeply Derek had dug himself into Stiles's being. It would hurt to let go, but he couldn't let anything become of this, he'd always known that. Every time Stiles had ever cared about someone it had torn the both of them apart. He wouldn't let that happen again. Derek had grown close to the omegas and Scott’s pack was stable and happy. He had a future here and this would feel more like home to Derek anyway.

“I’m glad,” Scott said, genuinely, not noticing the cloud of despair closing on his friend’s thoughts, placing a hand on Stiles shoulder as he had done so many times before, “You deserve this, Stiles.”

Stiles's throat was too thick to reply.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles knew he could not say good bye. If he looked back now he would never stop looking. So, while the others slept, he settled his dampeners securely so no one would detect him and slipped silently away. Every step felt like it cost him something of himself, like he was leaving limbs behind. There was a part of him that kept hoping someone would stop him and force him to stay, but he knew this was for the best and trudged on.

He was closing in on the border and moving sluggishly when Scott caught up to him. Stiles didn't bother putting up a fight. He turned, slow and stiff, to face his old friend, knowing he couldn't leave without at least doing this. Scott looked like he'd known Stiles would be there and it was a bittersweet thing to be right.

"You're leaving already," Scott asked, though it wasn't really a question. His voice wasn't accusing or harsh, he sounded a little sad but willing to let Stiles go if he needed that. For some reason, it still made Stiles feel guilty because he knew there was a little hurt and unspoken _without saying goodbye_ somewhere under those too understanding words.

"Yeah. I've got to get back to work and see to some things," Stiles said, his excuse sounding hollow even to his own ears.

Stiles couldn't look at Scott, knowing his eyes were seeing right through him. Scott knew him, knew that deep down he really didn't want to go. His face shifted in Stiles's periphery, becoming more the responsible alpha looking out for others.

“What about Derek,” Scott asked, the slanted light of the full moon making his serious eyes reflect red over their normal brown.

“Derek will be happier here,” Stiles said, his voice dead.

“You could be too,” Scott offered softly, a little hopeful smile lighting his face.

Stiles laughed humorlessly, “Two alphas, that would work well.”

It would be a dream come true to be part of Scott’s joyful little puppy pile. His best friend was a good and fair leader, but it sounded too wonderful, and like all wonderful things in his life, Stiles was wary; he knew it couldn’t last.

“It could,” Scott said, sincere in his conviction, “I’ve heard of it happening.”

“Packs of alphas,” Stiles asked derisively, “Grow up Scott, those are tales for pups.”

“I don’t care that you’re blood marked; I know you wouldn’t ever hurt us,” Scott said, going straight to the true heart of the matter and not even flinching, ever the trusting fool.

“You can’t seriously believe that, you were there,” Stiles said incredulously, grabbing his marked wrist through the fabric and squeezing tightly. The memory of that night played vividly before him, like the night itself had become his tragic theater.

 _His Dad's_ _face burned behind his eyes as he savaged his father's_ _killer, claws tearing at flesh again and again. He felt the rush of power transfer from the dead alpha into him, lighting his eyes with a red glow around furious tears_ _. That should have been the end of it, but there were three betas with the alpha's scent behind him now and Stiles's blood was still singing for revenge._ _He turned on them without thought and without mercy._

_There'd been a tingling on his arm as the blood slid down his claws but he paid it no mind until the last breath escaped their lungs. Then a scorching pain blasted across his hand and almost sent him to his knees. He howled in pain, his whole body screaming in agony as the blood on his claws crawled across his skin to his wrist and gouged a jagged spiraling mark there that ate its way up his arm to the soft flesh of his inner elbow. It seemed an eternity had passed when the pain faded. He stared at the mark as it dripped blood, a mixture of his own and the three betas that now stained his skin forever. He was almost too numb with shock and horror to take in the spike in his power._

“And I saw it wasn’t your fault,” Scott said, stubbornly, “They were trying to kill you before that. No one knew they were loyal to the power, not the alpha.”

 _But I should have known_ , Stiles thought furiously, claws digging into his wrist. If he'd taken even a second to acclimate to the alpha power, everything would have been different. Now he would always be fighting to keep it from happening again.

“You’re my best friend, Stiles. You made a mistake, but you're not dangerous,” Scott coaxed, taking a step closer to accent the point.

Stiles met Scott's eyes without giving away what he was thinking. Personal feelings aside, he and Scott were supposed to be equals, but that was not true, it had not been since the mark had burned itself into Stiles’s skin and cursed him. He was already a match for Scott, even though he only had Derek and his loose bond with Boyd and Erica. Joining a larger pack would make him far stronger. That would change the pack dynamics, tip the scales, and maybe even rip it down the middle. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s happiness too.

He didn’t say any of this though, he chose instead to use the other truth that Scott would understand and have no refute for, and said, “I can’t stay here, not after everything that happened.”

They stared each other down for a moment, Scott understanding his friend’s decision but wishing with all his heart he could change it.

He tried his last resort and said, defeated, “Derek doesn’t even want to be part of my pack. He cares about you, Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t respond to that or show how it struck him in the chest, taking the air from his lungs. “Take care of him,” Stiles said lifelessly and turned away.

* * *

After parting from Scott, Stiles set off on his lone journey with a hollowness in his heart that made him feel like an empty shell. This was better though, he told himself, Derek could find happiness here and Stiles could return to his life before. He did not acknowledge the fact that everything before Derek had been a blank nothingness he hadn’t even known was empty until that broken Hale ran into his life.

As though summoned by the desolate thoughts of him, Derek’s voice echoed through the trees, calling Stiles's name. He wasn’t very close but he was far closer than Stiles was comfortable with. He should have known Scott would wake Derek and moved faster.

He cursed under his breath. He’d been too caught in his thoughts and hadn’t noticed Derek’s approach. He chastised himself for his lack of vigilance. Stiles kept moving, faster now, smoothly winding through the trees, trying to lose Derek over the unfamiliar terrain.

“Stiles, wait,” Derek called, frustrated.

He’d kept up better than Stiles thought, or perhaps Stiles was too weak so close to the place that held the death of his heart, twice now. Stiles finally slowed to allow Derek to cut him off, just wanting this over with before Derek got too far away from Scott’s protection. Derek appeared in front of him, eyes icy blue and brow furrowed in confusion.

“Go back, Derek,” Stiles commanded with an empty voice that matched his heart.

“Is that an order too,” Derek asked coldly, a heated challenge in his eyes. Stiles looked away at that like he'd been slapped. He deserved it after the other night, but he hadn't expected it to hurt. He bit back the apology that rose on his tongue and thought that perhaps this would help Derek leave him. It did not help the emptiness in his chest.

“Stay with Boyd and Erica, they could probably use your help adjusting,” Stiles said tonelessly, not really answering.

“What the hell are you talking about,” Derek asked, voice guarded.

“Haven't you noticed? I’m not your alpha anymore,” Stiles answered, side stepping Derek to continue on his way.

“When did you decide this,” Derek asked with forced calm. Stiles noted distantly that he was barely keeping his anger in check.

“You’ll be happy with Scott’s pack,” Stiles stated numbly.

“I’m loyal to you,” Derek said with cold conviction, “I won’t accept Scott.”

At Derek’s stubbornness, the emptiness in Stiles filled with white hot rage. It was irrational but Stiles felt some satisfaction at being able to feel something again and he would take what he could get.

“I never wanted a pack, Derek,” Stiles yelled venomously, spitting Derek’s name back at him like an insult.

Stiles’s chest was heaving with his emotions as he tried to control the storm of emotions eating at him and anchor himself to his human side. But Stiles flashed red eyes at Derek, his anger slowly eating away at him and making him more animal. He was keeping control second to uncertain second by the claws digging deep into his palms. He needed to end this soon.

“Tell me that you don’t want me with you,” Derek demanded through gritted teeth.

The meaning was clear, if Stiles told him he didn’t want him as his beta anymore, Derek would go back to Scott’s pack, but the other option was too much to think about for Stiles. His eyes returned to normal and he stared Derek down until the beta had to look away. It was a relief to have those eyes off him for a second. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not certain what would come out of his mouth with those eyes on him.

“There’s nothing for you if you stay with me,” Stiles said finally. It was the truth even though it didn’t answer the question. He turned away from Derek, intending to take another path out of the preserve. Derek caught his arm in a tight grip and Stiles was too tired to fight it.

“Just give me an answer, Stiles,” Derek yelled, almost begging Stiles to give him something. It was so much like the first time they'd met that Stiles felt a manic laughter trying to bubble up in his chest. Anger drowned it out.

“Do you have a death wish, Hale,” Stiles asked coldly, a dark threat under his words as he pulled up his sleeve to display his mark. His power built just under the surface. It was a threat he would go through with, but only as a last resort. Stiles might be dead inside, but if Derek didn’t intend to kill him there was no way he could come close to beating Stiles. He could feel Derek’s hand twitch against his arm as he felt the deathly intent rise off Stiles’s skin.

Derek still didn't let go though. Stiles waited ten second before he loosed his claws and flung Derek’s arm away in a spray of blood. Derek jumped back, clutching at his bleeding wrist from where Stiles’s claws had caught his skin. Stiles growled threateningly, advancing on him. Derek looked stunned, starting to realize that Stiles was serious in this.

The blood from Derek’s arm softly burnt his fingers as it slid down Stiles's claws. He shivered at the oddly painful pleasure of it. He'd meant to back off at this point unless Derek pushed him farther, but the moon was high above him and Stiles was suddenly filled with a primal need that refused to allow him to care. The mark was a glowing, fiery red on his arm that pulsed stronger by the second, lending him strength that he’d never known because he’d never actually had occasion to tap into it. The sudden rush of power was heady, blinding, and Stiles was greedy for more.

He could feel a dangerous smile crawling across his lips as his fangs lengthened and distorted it. His eyes shone red at Derek who finally seemed to be getting that he was seriously in danger here. He was backing away slowly, keeping his eyes on Stiles, wary. Stiles wanted him to run so he could chase him down. The thought of blood spilling over his claws and coating his chin was a wonderful one to Stiles at that moment.

He put his head back and loosed his hunting cry to the night, howling for blood.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter that should have been. The real end.

Stiles came back to himself slowly, like he was dreaming. The air around him felt like that of an old war zone, still tainted with blood and carnage.  He blinked the blurriness out of his eyes as they tracing over the dirt beside his cheek and out into the forest beyond. He was still in Scott’s territory but he was a long way from where he’d lost himself to the mark last night. The moon had finally set and the world was slowly regaining its color as the sun prepared to crest the horizon. There was an incredible amount of blood on the air for the lack of bodies.

His muscles were stiff as he slowly pushed himself upright. His mouth tasted stale and when he moved his jaw dried blood and sweat cracked on his skin. It made him shudder. He kept thinking he saw scattered limbs and lifeless bodies littering the bloody earth around him, but they faded like mist when he turned his head to look.

Stiles tried desperately to search his memory, but all he could recall was giving in to the bloodlust. Everything was a blur as it had been when he'd fought that beta in unfamiliar territory, but this had been far more intense with the scent of pack and blood thick on the air. All that had mattered in the world was that the mark burn through his body at any cost.

How much he still relished the idea of ripping someone to pieces until the mark had burned every inch of his skin made his stomach turn. Thinking of it suddenly made him aware again of insistent brand on his arm biting at his skin. He could feel his whole body suddenly go rigid at the thought that the mark felt bigger. Dread started building into a heavy weight in his throat. He gasped for air, sweat beading on his skin in a cold sheen.

Stiles heard his name echo among the trees in an achingly familiar voice. His head shot up and zeroed in on the approaching figure. He didn’t dare hope, but he knew that scent, even coated in dirt and slowly healing wounds.

“Derek,” he tried to say, but it came out strangled with relief and abuse.

He was on his feet before he could think about it, straining newly healed wounds and not caring. His hand was reaching out automatically toward Derek, when he realized he couldn’t feel Boyd and Erica. Where they had once been part of his awareness there was now only a gaping emptiness.

His hand was frozen in midair as he stared at the blood staining his skin and peeling off in rusty flakes. The limb began to tremble violently as he looked back at Derek, horrified.

“Erica? Boyd?” Stiles was amazed he could still speak, their names ripping themselves out of his throat.

“Scott’s taking care of them,” Derek said simply.

Stiles stared at Derek uncomprehending. He understood the subtle implication of not being given any more information; they were no longer his to care for and it was his fault they were in whatever state he’d left them. He did not, however, understand the more obvious meaning behind in Derek’s words; all three of them could not be alive.

He yanked back his torn sleeve all the way to his elbow, needing to see for himself. He almost didn’t believe it for a moment. The mark was much the same as it had ever been. A few of the swirls seemed to have changed position in the night like they had become living things, but no new ones had branched out, none of them any longer than they’d ever been. Stiles fell to his knees, a manic laugh ghosting past his lips in his relief. He buried his eyes in his palms and curled his body around his stomach as the tension there released and the world spun around him. His breathing was ragged, but the panic he had been expecting did not come, held at bay by his numb disbelief.

“Scott and his pack,” Stiles asked quietly, not daring to hope for more of a miracle.

“I just finished checking on them. Everyone should make a full recovery,” Derek answered neutrally, again giving him nothing but also everything he needed.

Stiles released a long breath as he slowly raised his head to look at Derek. He knew what was to happen now. There was something of a relief in the thought of it, a strange freedom on the horizon.

“It’s only right they sent you,” Stiles laughed, giving Derek a doomed, hopeless smile.

“What are you talking about,” Derek asked warily.

Stiles settled into the same position Derek had taken the night they met, a clear submission. Derek stared at him with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock. There was something so horrifying about watching his alpha abandon his pride and take a position so far below him. Derek’s jaw clenched as he glared, worried and furious. Stiles didn't care, his dull, lifeless eyes sliding past Derek into the nothingness beyond the trees.

“You don’t have to worry about becoming marked,” Stiles assured him, “To kill your alpha, you have to break the pack bond.”

Stiles tilted his head further to bare his neck, making this as easy as possible for both of them. He watched Derek’s hand flex momentarily and then ball into a tight fist. The beta crossed the distance between them with long, heavy strides, favoring his left side. Derek grabbed Stiles’s shoulders, pulled him roughly to his feet, and shook him once, hard, like that would knock some sense into him.

"Don't ever say that again," he said furiously, a dark threat under his words.

Stiles finally met Derek's glare, anger starting to build behind his eyes. Derek’s chest was bare and he was covered in slowly healing wounds that would have been fatal on a human and would incapacitate any other werewolf. Derek had always been unbelievably stubborn though.

"Why not? I almost killed you," Stiles said, his voice full of the sharp bite of bitterness and self-loathing.

“No,” Derek said, slow and clear, "You wouldn't have."

Stiles shoved off Derek's chest, stumbling back a step as he said, harsh and venomous, "You shouldn’t even be moving with how you look right now!”

“I’ll heal,” Derek said stubbornly between his teeth.

Like Derek hadn’t even spoken, Stiles threw his arm outward to indicate a tree sprayed with a dried, rust colored film of blood and yelled, “I can’t even tell how many people that belongs to! And you’re still trying to tell me I wouldn’t have killed you?”

Derek opened his mouth to reply vehemently, but Stiles was on a roll now, disgust overlaying his every word as he continued, “You know, it's one thing for Scott to have said that I won’t hurt anyone, but you were here; you saw what _this_ turns me into," at the word this, Stiles ripped aside the torn sleeve that had been crawling back down his arm. His mark stood out starkly in the crisp morning light.

"You're not a monster, Stiles," Derek coldly. The candor in his words cut through Stiles and he had to look away for a second. Derek took advantage of this to step closer.

Stiles's fists clenched hard enough that the bones creaked and the burn of frustrated tears stung his eyes but did not fall. Stiles was too wrung out for this confrontation. He wanted to drown in Derek's words until he didn't know any truth but that. He was so sick of fighting against himself, but whatever had happened tonight proved Derek would never be safe with him.

“Last night, you caught me,” Derek said quietly, his fingers brushing over a particularly gruesome claw mark. The words made Stiles flinch back, but Derek wasn’t done. “I thought I was dead, but you just _looked_ at me. Then Scott’s pack showed up and, even though it would have been easier and made you stronger to just finish me, you tried to protect me.”

Derek moved closer to him and Stiles found himself forced back a step, not noticing until it had already happened. He tried to cover it by yelling angrily back, "Are you listening to yourself? I was just guarding my kill! You don't have any idea what you're saying!"

"What? That you might kill me one day," Derek scoffed with an acid to his tone that clearly said he didn't care one way or the other about that eventuality.

He took another step toward Stiles, who felt his back scrape bark and could go no further. Feeling too exposed and vulnerable, he wanted nothing more than to slam home all of his defenses right then and run until he reached the edge of the world, but Derek held him in place with those eyes full of determination and promise.

"If you were going to do it," Derek started, but paused as he took one last step to close the gap so there was only a breath of air between them. Stiles jumped as Derek grabbed his wrist and brought it to eye level. Stiles hadn't realized his claws were out. Derek didn’t flinch, didn’t waver, and didn’t look away from Stiles as he brought the sharp tips of Stiles’s claws to rest on his neck. Derek continued, his voice quieter now they were so close, "you would have done it already."

Stiles was breathing too fast, the little air between them charged like the seconds before a lightning strike. He stared at his claws, poised to rip into Derek like cheap wrapping paper. The mark burned insistently, begging for blood. He glanced back at Derek, his vision shifting erratically as his eyes responded to the challenge in red and returned to human dizzyingly. Derek's eyes answered him in a spark of familiar blue. There wasn’t even a hint of fear or hesitation in him and it spoke to the part of Stiles that desperately wanted to just abandon all sense and accept what Derek was clearly offering.

Stiles parted his lips a fraction to speak, but Derek did not give him the chance to discover what he might have said. He leaned in that last inch and sealed his mouth over Stiles's. Claws were forced into flesh and there was suddenly a war for control raging in every fiber of Stiles’s body. A trickle of hot blood spilled over his wrist and lit the mark like a fresh brand on his skin, demanding more. But the soft touch of Derek's lips, the closeness he'd been craving for months, had his other instincts screaming that this was to be protected.

Stiles flinched and shut his eyes tight, terrified to do more. His lips shifted, somewhere between trying to order Derek to stop and keep his fangs from fully forming. Derek chased the movement, determined, and something short circuited in him. Passion won over bloodlust and he pulled Derek closer with hands that were free of claws. It was better than any dream he could have conjured and Stiles let all his thoughts and reasons fall to pieces as he kissed Derek like the world was ending.

Stiles pulled back with a great show of will and ducked his head, breathing heavily. His body was shaking with adrenaline and the maelstrom of emotion washing over him, jubilation and terror primary among them. Derek was still and patient, waiting to see if Stiles shoved him away and ran again, his breath warming Stiles's ear. Stiles both held desperately to and was afraid of each moment, like this was just a beautiful dream and he'd wake covered in blood and surrounded by actual bodies.

"Scott won't be here next time," Stiles said quietly, needing to remind himself.

Derek’s hand slid down Stiles's exposed inner forearm. The mark burned gently as the feeling of his fingers lingered warm and alive on Stiles’s skin, reawakening a little of that bloodlust and making him shiver.

"If that’s what it comes to," Derek said, fingers finally coming to rest woven between Stiles's and he gently squeezed their linked hands, "I won’t regret becoming part of your mark."

Stiles jerked back, a cold sweat running down his spine, to look at Derek, face to face, as he asked, shocked and disgusted, "What the hell-" but Derek cut him off with a determined stare as he said, "It's part of you, Stiles. I'm not afraid of you."

Stiles gaped at him, certain Derek had gone mad. But there was some warmth that was spreading in his chest despite himself and the words “not afraid of you” played in his head on a loop. Derek leaned his head into Stiles, his contentment washing over him in waves and soothing his raw nerves.

“I can’t have a mate,” Stiles breathed weakly, the last of his resistance trying to prop up some semblance of a defense.

“You already do,” Derek assured him.

The wall he was so used to having up around Derek was crumbling alarmingly fast, but it was such a relief to finally give in and let himself have what he wanted. His muscles released some of their tension and he rested his head beside Derek's ear, nuzzling softly.

There was so much he needed to do, a truly disturbing chunk of the night was missing from his memory that he needed a full account of and Scott’s pack would need an appeasement of some kind, but, as the sun’s rays cut through the trees and danced on their skin, he found he couldn’t be bothered with any of it.

“Let’s go home,” Stiles murmured after a long moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending to this fic has bothered me since I first posted this story and I know from comments that I'm not the only one. So, I thought it was high time I did something about it. Is this the perfect end? Probably not, but I'm much happier with it than the other.
> 
> The only epilogue I'm including this time is this:  
> “I can't figure out what kind of appeasement gift to get Scott. Nothing really says ‘sorry for trying to kill everyone, but thanks for saving my mate!’”

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on Tumblr [here](http://alexdoesthings.tumblr.com/)


End file.
